“I promise.”
“Bye, baby. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
He pressed the red button, ending the call. His throat closed up. Turning back, he returned the phone. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
The farmer pulled away, leaving Martin in a cloud of dust. The conversation with Susan had brought to the fore all his hidden anxieties. As relieved as he was that she was okay, he couldn’t suppress the fear that gnawed at him. I’d better get there fast.
Another night and day passed before he reached his home, Jeffreys Bay. It was a coastal town with a laid-back vibe, chilled people, beautiful beaches, and phenomenal waves. A surfer’s paradise.
Now, it was on fire.
He paused on a rise that looked out over the sprawling urban area where his house sat. The sky stretched out before him toward the ocean, cobalt blue and covered in sparkling lights, but a smoky haze hid the stars from view, emanating from several fires in mid-town. Martin’s heart dropped in his chest. It’s begun.
He set the duffel bag on the ground and removed an R4 rifle, clipping in a full magazine. He slipped on his battle jacket and loaded it with spare cartridges and a few grenades. “Here goes.”
With his rifle held in front of his body, he settled into a smooth jog. All thoughts of being tired or in pain vanished. His family needed him. He was ready.
A car wreck was the first obstacle he encountered. It had crashed into a lamp pole, the nose folded inward. Steam rose from the radiator, curling into the flickering yellow light cast by the street lamp. The doors stood open, the occupants missing. A single bloody handprint was smeared across the window.
Martin slowed, doing a quick one-eighty. Just in time too. A dark figure launched itself from the shadows with a screech. His finger tightened on the trigger, and a spray of bullets punctured the night. One hit the infected’s head, exploding it like a rotten tomato.
A hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him backward. Instead of resisting, he pushed off with his feet. He hit the ground rolling, and the hand disappeared. He sprang upright and shot the second infected with a quick blast. Not waiting for more to show up, he sprinted away from the scene.
It was like running through a horror movie or maybe a video game. One of those that Ashton liked so much. He ran down the middle of the road, the way lit by the faltering street lights and occasional fires casting their orange glow. From the sides, monsters attacked, running towards him with growls spilling from their bloody lips. He shot them all down.
When he reached his block, he slowed again. Fear of what he might find rose within him. A few stragglers attacked, but he took them down with brisk efficiency before his feet directed his body towards his driveway. The gates were closed and locked, just like he’d asked Susan. Relief flowed through him. Maybe I got here in time.
He vaulted over the wall in one smooth move. His footsteps crunched across the gravel in the driveway. The sound disappeared when he hit the stone walkway leading to the front door. A wind chime stirred in the breeze on the porch, tinkling like bells. The lights were off, and the house was silent. Like a grave.
The hair on the nape of his neck rose. His hand closed on the handle. It was locked. Using his spare key, he unlocked, the click loud in the unnatural quiet.
The door swung open. His foot crossed the boundary line, pressing into the thick carpet of the front living room. The other foot followed. He was inside. The dark swallowed him whole, the only light filtering through the curtains from outside.
Navigating by memory, he pressed onward, resisting the urge to call out to Susan. His boot landed in something wet with a squelch. He froze. His nostrils flared, and a metallic scent that was all too familiar filled them. Blood.
A whisper of sound alerted him. The gun swung up. Clawed hands raked across his chest, and a high-pitched screech filled his ears. His muscles reacted on instinct, pulling the trigger. A brief burst lit up the room, punching into the dark figure revealed. It was short and buxom. Susan.
“No!” he cried when the figure crumpled. Martin dropped to his knees, his hand reaching out to touch flesh. Cold, dead flesh.
Before he could do more, another growl issued from the doorway leading to the kitchen. Thumping noises preceded the infected’s footsteps coming his way. Martin scrambled back, his mind conjuring up horrific images of his children in zombie form. “No, don’t! Please don’t!”
The thumping did not slow.
Martin willed himself to move, to shoot. He couldn’t. His muscles refused to obey even at the threat to his own life. The figure launched itself through the air, hitting him in the chest. He was thrown to the floor.
His hands gripped the thing by the throat, pushing it back. Teeth clipped together in front of his face. Fetid breath washed across his nostrils. Unable to see who it was, he held on, inches from death. “Stop it, just stop. Please.”
The infected wormed in his grip, the decomposing flesh slippery between his fingers. It scratched at his jacket with stiff fingers. It yearned for him. The groans sounded familiar. Too familiar. Ashton.
Tears leaked from between his eyelids. “I’m so sorry, my boy. So sorry. I should have been here. I should have saved you.”
His will to live faded. His family was dead. All dead. It was his fault. He should have been here to protect them. He should have insisted on Susan moving the family to the army base. He should have done so many things, and now it was too late. The muscles of his arms relaxed by small degrees. The teeth came closer. He closed his eyes and prepared for the end.
“Daddy.” The cry of his young daughter snapped his eyes open.
The growls of his son changed in pitch. The boy reared back, throwing himself at this new victim. She screamed again, shrill and high. “Daddy!”
The sound galvanized him into action. Martin threw himself at Ashton, grabbing him by the back of his shirt. Operating by feel and instinct, he placed his hands over his son’s head. With a swift jerk, he twisted. The neck vertebrae snapped with a crunch. Ashton fell.
“It’s okay, Kimberley. I’m here.” She threw herself into his arms, sobbing. He held her close against him, trying not to cry as well. He had to be strong now, for her. She needed him. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”
When Kim calmed down, he said, “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He guided her to her room, moving by feel and memory. Once inside, he switched on the light. Kim’s face was pale and her eyes swollen, but she appeared unharmed. He sat her down on the bed and asked the question he most feared. “Are you hurt? Did Mommy or Ashton hurt you?”
“No.”
“Not at all? They didn’t bite or scratch you?”
Kim shook her head and sniffled. “No, but Ashton was hurt when he came home.”
“He was?”
“Yes, someone bit him. Mommy put a bandage on it but then…then…” She began to cry again.
“It’s okay, baby.” Martin pulled into his arms.
“He hurt Mommy.” Kim’s whole body shook. “She told me to hide, and I did. I was so scared.”
“Shh. It’s over now. I’m here.”
Martin held his daughter while she grieved, holding back the flood of guilt and sorrow that crashed around inside him. I should have warned Susan. I should have told her about the infection, how it spreads.
But it was done now, and there was no time to be wasted on empty regrets. They were still in danger.
After crying herself to sleep, Martin eased Kim under the covers. He closed her door and paused, preparing himself for what he was about to see. He flicked the light on in the living room. It lit up the scene in uncompromising detail. “Oh, God.”
His wife lay in a puddle of thick, blackened blood, most of her skull blown away. Brain matter was spattered everywhere, her once beautiful smile obliterated. “Suzy, oh Suzy. I’m so sorry.”
He stepped past her toward his son, averting his eyes. Ashton lay on his back, head twis
ted to the side. His eyes rolled in their sockets, and his teeth gnashed. He was still alive. Snapping his neck had only paralyzed his body.
Martin turned away, heaving. The contents of his stomach splashed onto the carpet, spattering his boots. He convulsed, expelling not only vomit but also horror.
At last, he was reduced to a quivering heap on the floor, crying for everything he’d lost. It was only the thought of Kim that got him back on his feet again. Pushing away the terrible guilt and pain, he entered a robotic state.
First, he took care of Ashton before he wrapped up the bodies and dragged them outside. He cleaned the living room with a bucket of hot water and soap, scrubbing until his knuckles bled. With a shovel, he dug two shallow graves and buried them. He had neither the heart nor the energy to say anything.
Never stopping for even a moment, he packed supplies, loading it into the back of his truck. They needed a bug out vehicle in case the house was attacked. He focused on food, blankets, clothes, medicine, weapons, and water. Siphoning the petrol from Susan’s car, he filled the tank to the brim and added a toolbox as well as camping gear.
Satisfied at last, he went to the kitchen and prepared a meal. The electricity and plumbing still worked at least. He fried a couple of steaks and eggs, tossing it onto a plate with buttered bread. His stomach cried out for food, but each bite tasted like sawdust. He chewed mechanically, forcing each mouthful down. His body would need the energy in the days to come.
While he ate, he considered their situation. Giving up was not an option. Kim still had her whole life ahead of her. Neither was running away. He’d never been either a runner or a quitter. The obvious solution was to gather up all possible survivors, find a safe location, and fort up. After that, they could begin eradicating the undead and rebuilding society.
With his mind made up, he scratched out his old ham radio. It was time to find out who was still out there. He knew plenty of retired army vets, and he was willing to bet many of them still breathed. “I’m not giving this town to the zombies. Fuck that. It’s time to fight.”
Chapter 5 - Maria
Maria rushed to put the finishing touches on dinner. Her heartbeat was erratic, her anxiety levels skyrocketing at the thought of the evening to come. Rolf had phoned earlier and told her he’d invited colleagues to dinner. This meant everything had to be perfect. Pristine. Flawless.
She set the table with her best cutlery and silverware before arranging fresh roses in a vase on the sideboard. They were her favorite, pastel pink darkening to magenta at the edges. Maria took a moment to center herself, inhaling the scent of the fresh blooms into her nostrils. They calmed her down and helped her prepare for what was to come.
With a regretful sigh, she placed the flowers back into position and scurried to the kitchen. After seasoning the gravy, she checked the roast beef. It was done to perfection, each slice moist and pink in the center. After arranging the meat and fried potatoes on a platter, she decorated it with mint leaves from her garden.
A side dish of pumpkin fritters in caramel sauce, Rolf’s favorite, already waited on the warming tray alongside basmati rice, sweet peas, and creamed spinach. A pitcher of homemade lemonade cooled in the fridge next to a few beers. With obsessive precision, Maria checked and rechecked each item. She could not afford any mistakes.
The oven dinged, announcing that dessert was ready. The scent of baked apples teased her nostrils with their promise of heavenly delight until her stomach lurched when she realized something. We’re out of cream. “No!”
How could she have been so stupid? Berating herself, Maria checked her watch. She had twenty minutes to run to the shop and back. Grabbing her wallet, she nearly burst into tears. It was empty. Rolf gave her precious little each month to buy the groceries with, and she was out.
With the utmost reluctance, she took money from her secret hiding spot. That money was her ticket out one day. Her pass to freedom squirreled away over the years with painful sacrifice. She hated parting with a single cent.
“You don’t have a choice, Maria. It’s either that or…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Could not bring herself to articulate the punishment Rolf would mete out.
Maria locked the front door and ran down the road, panic spurring her on until her feet flew over the ground. Luckily, the shop wasn’t far, and she made it within five minutes. She paid for the cream, fiddling when the cashier took too long for her liking. Please let me be in time.
With the packet clutched to her chest, Maria sprinted back home. Sweat poured into her eyes, and sharp pains stabbed into her side. The same side Rolf had used as a punching bag a few nights ago.
Not tonight.
Not again.
Please, God.
Her train of thought was broken when a figure lurched out from behind a tree, blocking her way. It was a man. A man with a gaping wound on his shoulder and a torn shirt. He ran towards her, growling. Maria scrambled back, fear clouding her mind. What was wrong with him? What did he want?
His scent washed over her, a fetid mixture of blood and rot. He reached for her, and she batted his hands away. The man kept coming, grabbing her wrist with tenacious fingers. A sharp pain stabbed through her arm when his teeth closed on her flesh, sinking in deeply.
Maria screamed and wrenched her arm back. She kicked out, catching him on the knee, and he fell. With one hand still clutching the cream, she ran away, throwing fearful looks over her shoulder.
The safety of her home beckoned, and she fell through the front door with a gasp of relief. Despite the pain the walls hid within, its shadowed confines welcomed her back.
Her arm throbbed where the crazed man had bitten her, but she ignored it, merely wrapping an old dishcloth around it. Getting ready for Rolf was more important. With haste bordering on panic, she whipped the cream and placed the crystal bowl in the fridge.
Running through her mental checklist, she calmed down enough to gather her wits. The house was clean. Check. The table was set. Check. Dinner was ready to serve. Check. The salt and pepper shakers were full. Check. There was tomato sauce, chutney, mustard, just about anything anyone could ask for. Check. The beers were cold. Check.
Her nerves settled to a low hum, and she dragged in a deep breath. Think, Maria, think. Did you miss anything?
The hands on her watch told her she was out of time. Rolf would be home any minute. In fact, he was overdue.
Her eyes fell on her arm. It oozed blood, droplets staining the dishcloth. Sweat pooled beneath her armpits, and a rank smell emanated from her skin. Her breath hitched in her throat. Me. I forgot about me. If Rolf sees me in such a state…
Rushing to the bathroom, Maria cleaned the wound with antiseptic and bandaged it. She donned her best dress and shoes, the ones reserved for church. It would not do for guests to see the actual state of her wardrobe. That would shame Rolf, and she would suffer the consequences.
She smoothed her hair, wiped the sweat away, applied perfume and makeup before sitting down in the lounge. Her position was not one of comfort. Instead, she balanced on the edge of the chair, wringing her hands together. The minutes ticked by.
Maria glanced at her watch, then checked the one on the wall. She fussed over her roses, positioning each just so.
She waited some more.
Still no sign of her husband.
After a while, she switched off the warming tray, terrified that the meat would dry out. Then she switched it back on. Rolf hated cold food.
Another hour passed. Her knuckles grew raw from all the chafing.
Every time she heard a car she jumped up, but Rolf never showed. She did not dare call him on his cell either. That would earn her a severe punishment. Instead, she sat, watching the hands on the clock move. Finally, at twelve, she got up. There would be no guests tonight.
Maria put away the food and locked the doors. After a cold shower to relieve the sudden hot flush that consumed her, she went to bed. Sleep would not come, however. Fear and unease caused her
stomach to revolt. At several intervals, she found herself crouching over the lid of the toilet, throwing up.
Around three in the morning, Rolf returned. After fumbling with the lock on the front door, he staggered inside. His rasping breath alerted her, and she gritted her teeth.
“Maria?”
She kept quiet, hoping he would think her asleep.
“Maria,” he said again, louder this time.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together.
“Wake up, woman.” His tongue tripped over the words, slurring. He fell onto the bed without waiting for an answer, one hand pawing at her breasts. Silent tears leaked from her eyes. I should have listened to you, my son. I should have left when I had the chance. Why didn’t I listen?
Rolf grunted and shifted his bulk closer. His breath, thick with the stench of alcohol, washed over her face. The groping continued, his hand fumbling over her stomach to her crotch. Unable to help herself, she twisted away, and he growled. He tightened his grip on her hip, bruising the tender skin. “Hold still. Do your duty, wife.”
Maria whimpered and bit back a cry when he thrust his thick fingers inside her, tearing the delicate flesh. He tugged at her panties, ripping the worn cotton. Staring into the darkness, she forced herself to hold still. Her muscles clenched, bracing for the coming assault.
Instead, Rolf grew still. His harsh breathing evened out. His girth sagged against her and crushed the air from her lungs. Strident snores filled her ears.
A sob of relief escaped her lips, and she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, smothering her gasps. Tears streamed down her face as she faced the years, bitter and alone. What have I done? Why did I stay?
The night held no answers for her.
At four, she rose from bed to begin her daily routine. It was Sunday, which meant a full English breakfast and Sunday lunch. Also, Rolf would be nursing a hangover from the night before. The worst kind of day.
Maria hurried to the bathroom and lit a candle. Rolf didn’t like it when she wasted electricity. She still felt ill which didn’t surprise her. Not after the night she’d had.
Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set Page 31